


You don’t know how you got here

by SchwarzePandaKatze



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Emma's wedding dress, F/F, POV Second Person, Regina's POV, swanqueen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SchwarzePandaKatze/pseuds/SchwarzePandaKatze
Summary: "You don’t know how you got here. You don’t know what to do. And you sure don’t know how to breathe. Your body seems to have forgotten everything.”aka Regina is dealing with seeing Emma in her wedding dress.





	You don’t know how you got here

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody, I haven’t written in ages. My life isn’t exactly going like planned and I have been constantly sick over the last year. I have received your comments about “The Roommate” and I’m trying to finish it. Unfortunately I have my problems with writing right now. I’m happy I was able to write at least this little fic.  
> P.S. I didn't have a beta, so don't mind any mistakes ;-)

You don’t know how you got here. You don’t know what to do. And you sure don’t know how to breathe. Your body seems to have forgotten everything. How to knock on a door, how to speak, how to regulate a heartbeat. You stare at your left hand, somewhere deep down you know how it works. You should make a fist, then your knuckles should hit the wood of the door in front of you. It is an easy task. A task even little kids have mastered. But you keep staring at your fingers, unable to move them. You have been a queen, have conquered kingdoms, and yet you are unable to knock on a door. 

You look up. It is an ordinary door, made of wood. Its color is a light brown. There is a handle on it, to open the door. It should be easy to use it, to get into the room. As easy as knocking. Which you haven’t mastered yet. Knocking, then opening the door and then… 

Knocking. You should knock on the door. That’s the first thing to do. You stare down at your hand again. _Making a fist, then hit the door with your knuckles_ , you tell yourself. A shuttering breath leaves your body. Breathing. Letting air in through your nose into your lunges. At least you can do that. Now back to the task of knocking. You know how it should work, now you only have to tell your body to act on it. 

When the door opens without any of your doing, you jump back a step. 

_Magic_ . It’s your first thought. But then a person walks through the door, smiling at you, apologizing for startling you. You’ve been told that you can enter the room. That _she_ is ready. 

It’s too soon. It’s all moving too fast. It shouldn’t be like that. First you would have to knock, then use the door handle, then walk through the door and only then you would see… 

But now the door is open, now all those steps are skipped. Now you are right at the part where you see her. 

The bride. 

The bride, who isn’t yours. The bride, who is marrying a man. The bride, who will be smiling at someone else. The bride, who will never be holding your arm. The bride, who will never kiss you. The bride, who… 

The bride, who turns around in that moment, looking at you. 

All you see is the dress. White, lots of white. Her legs are covered, her arms are covered, her chest is covered, even her head is covered in white. It’s so much. Too much. Like she is some kind of tree, buried under a ton of snow. 

You start laughing. You start laughing so hard, you have to hold your stomach with one hand. The laughter leaves your body, and with it all the tension from before. Even tears start springing to your eyes. You can’t stop laughing. _A tree buried under a ton of snow_. 

**Buried** . 

It’s that one word that echoes through your mind. Because isn’t a bride supposed to be beautiful, stunning and glowing? At least that’s what you have thought. What you have been afraid of. That’s the reason why you couldn’t knock on the door. You haven’t wanted to see her glowing. Haven’t wanted to see her happy while she is going to marry someone else. But now? 

Now you are kind of happy that you never told her about your feelings. Happy that it isn’t you who is going to marry her. Happy that you won’t marry a tree buried under a ton of snow. For some irrational reason you are happy. 

And still laughing. 

****************************** 

You have poofed out of there. Still clutching your stomach, still laughing, still with tears in your eyes. You have sunken to the floor on your kitchen and laughed. You sat there until you hadn’t had any breath to laugh anymore. 

You thought about what to do. There was no way you could go back. Back to where they were rehearsing the wedding. The actual wedding was in two days, but somehow, someone had insisted on rehearsing it. Who does rehearse a wedding? 

For the first time in weeks you think the wedding won't be so bad. After all, who wants to marry a tree? The thought of the dress makes you giggle. Giggle. You can't remember the last time you did that. Suddenly you are in the mood for a christmas movie. One with a lot of snow. And trees which are buried under it. You giggle again. 

Two hours later you are sitting on the living room in front of your tv. There is a bowl of ice cream in your lap and a bag of chips beside you. You still giggle whenever a snowy tree is shown. 

Your movie, however, is interrupted by a wild knocking on the door. You stand up to open the door. You are unprepared for the sight in front of you. She is out of the dress. She wears her regular stuff, jeans and some shirt. Her hair is free, cascading down to her shoulders. Your fingers twitch, you always liked her hair. 

Your heart aches. Aches like the time you put your own hand in your chest and removed your heart. At least that time the pain subsided after your hand and heart were out of your chest. You wonder how it would feel like to be heartless again. 

“What the hell was that?” She is angry. The anger is waving off of her. Filling the room with energy. There was once a time when this energy had thrilled you. Had given you life back into your hollow soul. Now you are tired. Tired and aching. 

You shrug and walk back to the living room. Sitting back on the couch. She is perplexed for a moment, unable to move and somehow you think she will just leave you alone. She doesn't leave. You should know this by now. She never leaves. Never leaves you. Your heartache becomes unbearable. 

“Do you think this was funny? Was this some kind of joke for you? You are-” she followed you into the living room and abruptly stops her yelling. “What is going on?” She sounds less angry and more irritated now. 

“I’m watching a movie.” 

She stares at you, then at the tv and back to you. You don’t look at her, you focus on the screen in front of you. A whole minute goes by. Then another. 

“Regina? Are you alright?” 

It's too much. You can live with a buried tree not wanting you. Not caring about you. But this, this person who looks more like Emma than a dead tree. You can't have this person care about you. 

It hurts. 

“Your wedding dress is awful. You look like a dead body in it.” 

You need to hurt her. Need her to turn her back on you. Need her to leave you alone. Another minute passes in silence. 

“What's going on?” 

There is too much care in her voice. It's too soft. Too gentle. 

“ **Go!** Go back to your awful dress, to your awful husband, to your awful wedding!” Your voice is too shrill, too high. With a wave of your hand she vanishes in a cloud of purple smoke. You don’t know how you got here. You don’t know what to do. And you sure don’t know how to breathe. Your body seems to have forgotten everything. 

On the tv screen is a snowy tree shown. This time, you don’t feel happy while thinking about her, about the dress, about the wedding. 

Your world is shattering. Just like the bowl of ice cream which hits the tv. 

****************** 

You are in your vault. You didn’t want to risk your son seeing you like this. You had fixed the tv and the ice cream bowl and then you had vanished into your vault. There is a hidden room behind one of the mirrors. Nobody can enter the room, unless you unlock it for them. You don’t know how long you have been here. The floor is scattered with broken wood, and shards of vases and glass. You stare at the mess on the ground, not really seeing it. 

You feel empty. Empty and tired. It is the kind of tiredness that sits deep in your bones. No amount of sleep helps against it. You know this feeling very well. There had once been a time in your life when you had constantly felt like this. It was so long ago, and yet you are still too familiar with this feeling. 

Logically you know that you have to get up. That you have to eat and drink something, but you don’t have the energy to do so. And you don’t care. Everything feels numb anyway. 

There is no sense of time in this room. No clock, no windows, nothing that indicates how much time has passed. There are only broken pieces everywhere. Including yourself. You are broken. You already knew that. There is a difference between knowing and feeling. 

Broken. 

Unlovable. 

No chance of a happy ending. 

You sit there and wait for the feeling to pass. You know it won't. It never does. 

Every now and then your eyes close. You feel the nothingness in your heart, in your soul. You are remembered of a time long ago. In a cold castle. With balls you attended and yet never been a part of. With dozens of people around you and yet nobody you know. 

You feel like hours have past, although you are not sure. You think you have been dozed of a few times. You’ve lost all feeling of time. Your stomach feels empty and your throat feels raspy. There should be some water in the other room, which is why you stand up and walk out of the hidden room. You make it as far as the hallway which connect the two rooms before you hear a voice, which stops you in your tracks. 

“Didn't thought you would be such a sleepy head.” 

You sigh. You don’t turn around. You are tired. Tired of being frustrated. Tired of being sad. Tired of bowls thrown against tv screens. 

You continue your way to the other room. While you grab the bottle of water you hear footsteps following you. You sip at your water. Your eyes look at the wall in front of you. You stand there, sipping at the bottle. You feel her presence behind you, but you don’t turn around. A second. Two seconds. After twenty seconds you stop counting. You have no intention of starting a conversation. You are wondering how long she is going to stand there without saying something. You want to be alone. 

You keep staring at the brick wall in front of you. Their dark red color had darkened even more over the years. Some of them had dark, almost black spots on them. Others were almost completely dark. You even see two or three bricks which have some kind of crack. One in particular had caught your attention. The brick is almost completely dark, it doesn’t just have one long crack, rather a lot of small cracks throughout the whole brick. You wonder why it is still in one piece and not crumbling to the floor. 

“Hey.” 

You close your eyes. Her voice is so soft, so gentle. You are remembered of a time when she had noticed you falling behind and said the exact same word. Back then you had been fueled with anger and fear, responding with a snappy _hey_. Right now you are neither of both. Just tired. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

You breathe in a long breath, staring at this one particular brick. There are so many cracks in it, it surely will fall apart any moment. One by one the pieces would fall to the ground, breaking even more and only leaving little, scattered pieces and dust on the floor. 

“Okay, guess I’m talking then.” 

You hear her moving a bit, hear how she exhales, hear how she comes closer, but still being three or four steps away. 

“I know you’re hurt.” 

You roll your eyes, even though she can’t see it. It doesn’t need a genius to know that you are hurt. You’ve been hurt for the last few decades. It has been a constant in your life. You don’t even know how it feels like to not feeling hurt. 

“I know this must be hard for you.” 

You suck in a breath. Does she know? She had always been too smart. Had always seen behind your barriers. The ones you put up, so people wouldn’t get too close. It hadn’t worked with her. She had somehow always found a way towards you. 

“Seeing all this and-” 

Your breath catches in your throat. She knows. You’re not sure whether it is good or bad that she figured it out on her own. Your hands are sweaty around the water bottle. This is something you never thought would happen. You never would have told her. But now she knows, had figured it out on her own. That you are in love with h- 

“m..s.. ..o..n.. ..od” 

_What?_

You whip around. Almost losing your bearings. _What?_ You are confused. Disorientated. The world is swimming a little. _What?_ You are not sure you have heard right. You want to form a question. Want to ask what this is about. You feel your lips moving, but no word comes out. 

“I know you miss Robin Hood”, she repeats. 

_What?_

You still don’t understand what’s going on. You can’t form a coherent question or sentence. Your mind is blank and at the same time filled with only one word. 

“What?” You hear yourself whisper the word. 

“I know he was your soulmate and that...maybe one day...and now...seeing all this…” 

“You-” You are blinking. Trying to make sense of this situation. Of course you miss Robin Hood. He had accepted you. Loved you. He had been there for you. He was nice and caring. You liked his presence. Liked how he never saw any evil in you. It’s not as hurtful as it has been a few weeks ago. You close your eyes and shake your head a little. This feeling of disorientation doesn’t leave you. 

“I just want you to know that I’m here for you. That you can talk to me. I’m your friend.” 

“You…” Your grip on the bottle in your hand tightens. Your teeth are clenching. “You think this is all because of Robin Hood?” It’s half a growl, half a question. You don’t need her to answer it verbally. Her face gives her away. There is clearly a _yes_ written all over her face. Before she can vocalize it you continue to talk. “You think this is all because of Robin Hood.” This time it is not a question. Just a growl. “Oh, and you are my _friend_. How nice.” Your voice is laced with sarcasm. “What a nice _friend_ you are. Coming here and trying to what? Cheer me up?” Your voice turns dangerous. You can’t believe you thought she knew. 

She opens her mouth to say something, but you cut her off before she can get even a tune out. 

“I don’t need cheering up.” The bottle, which was once in your hand, hits a place somewhere at your right. She looks with wide eyes to your right, where the bottle must be, and then back to you. “You!” You point at her. Trembling with fury. How could you been so naive to think she knew? “This is about you, Emma. It has always been about you. You are the one.” You take two steps towards her. You feel some kind of satisfaction when she takes a tentative step back, still looking at you with her wide, confused eyes. “Go be that buried, dead looking bride and leave me alone.” 

Once again you vanish in a cloud of purple smoke. This time, appearing in your office. Your hands are balled into fists. Your chest is heaving. You send the phone on your desk flying across the room. The monitor hits the coffee table. You grab the keyboard and stop midair. Frozen into place. 

_You are the one._

You remember saying this to her. That she is the one. The one that got away. The one you always wanted. Your heart stops beating. This can’t be. You have kept it to yourself for so long. You lower the keyboard, placing it back on the desk, but still holding onto it. 

You shake your head. _No_. There is no way she understood that. She is too dumb, too stupid. She wouldn’t understand it, even if you said three very obvious words to her. The keyboard crashes somewhere near the phone. 

Time is still a foreign concept for you. You haven’t seen a clock for hours. You don’t know how long you have been in your office. You’ve just arrived back to your house. You have to talk to your son. Tell him, that there had been some urgent business to take care of. That you still need to take care of it. That you can’t go to the wedding. 

You enter the house. You’re not surprised that it is empty. He is probably still with his grandparents. You find your phone in the kitchen. You have a bunch of missed calls and messages. You read the last one your son send you. 

You can’t move. You read the text over and over again. 

**Mom? Where are you? Emma called off the wedding with Hook. Call me.**

You don’t know how you got here. You don’t know what to do. And you sure don’t know how to breathe, how to regulate a heartbeat. Your body seems to have forgotten everything. Except one thing. 

It still knows how to be hopeful. 

**Author's Note:**

> Be hopeful Swen. SwanQueen will be there as long as we are <3


End file.
